


Just grab my hand (don´t ever drop it)

by Noducksinpond



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: F/M, Spoilers up until series 2 episode 3: the good traitor, felt deprived for some good canon scenes so wrote some myself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 06:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3198500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noducksinpond/pseuds/Noducksinpond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love you,” he had said, and paused to look at her face, but she had not looked back. “I love you with all my heart.” The words repeated themselves over and over in her head, and she welcomed sleep when it made her head completely blank and clear once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just grab my hand (don´t ever drop it)

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this show is back, and my heart once again belongs to these two. 
> 
> (This is also my first fic in this fandom, so I hope it wasn´t too horrible.)

She had known in her heart, almost from the day they had first been introduced to one another, that she would never come to love Louis. In the beginning, she had fooled herself into believing otherwise, but after a while, she had admitted it to herself. There was no way of hiding from yourself after all.

She comes to respect him though, a feeling that is mostly mutual. Sometimes he looks down on her, she is Spanish and a woman. And she considers him a little air headed, and doe eyed. They become friends of a sort despite of it, they talk of the matters at court, of sciences and every once in a while he makes love to her, in the hope that they will get an heir.

For a while she harbours affection for Rochefort, he is the kindest man to her here and he always listens to her concerns, but she smothers the feeling. She knows what she is, what she can´t get. She is the queen of France now, and she has her duty. She cannot let her childish feelings stand in the way of that. The giddy feeling quickly dies out, and she covers herself up. Does not let it happen to her again.

….

But then there is Aramis, and that is different. Because she does not even realize it at first, but when it dawns on her that he has not left her mind even days after she had given him her favour, something twists in her. He is a kind and clearly brave man, and she tries not to think of his face, or the way his smile was so pleasing to her eyes. It is fine for several weeks, and they do not see each other. But then she gets attacked, and she fears she may be doomed from the moment the words spill from her tongue.

When he kisses her skin that night, she does still think she might survive this. That she has not doomed both of them with her words of comfort. It is a thought of a stupid girl, but she clings onto it regardless. That she just needs to get this out of her heart, and then she can live on.

She later finds out that she can´t, but she still keeps trying.

She dodges and avoids him after Louis had announced that she was with child. She cannot look him in the eye now, but her mind stays on him, cannot possibly leave him behind, as she should, as it is her duty to do. Instead she concentrate on the son she´ll have, the son that will make Louis happy, and calm her opposition both at court and among the people. Her pregnancy comes and goes, and her son is born. Her beautiful wonderful son, who´ve both her and Louis have wanted so badly. But the happiness is still a little hollow, because they are walking on a thin thread.

…

Almost a year passes, before she talks to Aramis again. They are alone and hiding, she was attacked again, and not another soul in the world can hear them. He tells her he loves her, she expected him to say that, but she does not speak a word. She can´t. His eyes tell her, he already knew that. If she says it back, she dooms them, and her days and his too will be numbered.

“I just needed you to know,” he said quietly, which she understands, yet she cannot look at him. Instead, she holds back the tears, which are threatening to spill, and bites her lip. But none of them says anything else. When he leaves the tent to guard outside, she wipes her tears from her eyes. If she had spoken the words, she would have been doomed.

 _“I love you,” he had said, and paused to look at her face, but she had not looked back. “I love you with all my heart.”_ The words repeated themselves over and over in her head, and she welcomed sleep when it made her head completely blank and clear once more.

…

It is a few months later, when d´Artagnan comes to see her. She does not know the young man very well, but he seems honest and a worthy musketeer. She understands why Constance cares about him. However, her thoughts are far from d´Artagnan as soon as he explains why he came here. Aramis had been wounded on their last mission, and he had asked for her. Fear struck her heart, but she quickly calmed herself, and cleared her head. Instead she quickly changed to the commoner clothing, D´Artagnan had brought with him, courtesy of Constance. Then she followed him down the dark and dimly lit streets of Paris, her heart pounding quicker than it ever should.

Once she arrived at the house, none of them seemed fond of leaving her alone with him. She does not want to have to order them, but Constance does before her. “Aramis wanted to see her majesty, they should be left alone.” Constance follows the three others out of the room, and the world falls silent in their absence.

She sat down at the edge of the bed, and looked down at him, really looked at him for the first time. She allowed herself that luxury, he was asleep after all. Her fingers stroked his soft long hair, currently damp from sweat, and she felt her heart ache for him. Now she understood why they had come for her, there was no one who could say if he would survive this. “Anne,” he croaked hoarsely, and she practically jumped in her seat.

“Aramis,” she said softly, taking his hand when he reached for her. She knew, she should not, but could not bring herself to care. Even awake he looked so tired, so dreary. None of the optimism and light, she had always seen in his face before. A lump formed in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

“You´re really here?” he asked. She nodded without a word, not trusting her voice to speak. They sat in silence for a while, his eyes locked with hers, and for the first time in what seemed like eternity, she did not look away. He doesn´t look feverish or ill now, as if her presence alone makes him clear headed. His hand still feels colder than it should though, and her free hand has not stopped brushing through his hair. “I have missed you,” he whispered, his voice still hoarse and thick.

“And I you,” she answered, before she could stop herself. He let out a deep sigh, half tired, half content, and his eyes flickered shut for a moment. It was clearly hard for him to stay awake. Exhausting for him to endure, and she cried. She never wept, that was not the woman she was, yet she couldn´t stop herself this time. His grip around her hand loosened, and her heart quickened. “I love you,” she whispered oh so quietly, and leant down to kiss him, not knowing if he was awake or not.

She half expected her life to end that very instant, expecting God or Louis to cast judgement on her, and send her to hell, sure she had reached her doom. But she quickly realized something, her words had not doomed her, they had not been the nails in her coffin. She had doomed herself the very minute she first met Aramis. Since then all she had done, was deny what her heart so desperately wanted. “I love you,” she repeated tasting the words on her tongue again, once she parted from him. It would be the last time she could say them. She half expected him to squeeze her hand, to reassure her, he´d heard it. But he did not.

She silent rose from the bed, and headed out the door, D´Artagnan leading her back to the castle safely. None of them spoke, and she sunk into the sheets of her bed, thankful for her private chambers. She does not get much sleep that night, her mind too occupied with the man she loves fighting for his life. Because she loves him, and admitting it to herself was almost enough to battle the dreadful feeling, which makes her want to weep until she no longer can. The following day, she excuses herself from court feeling tired, and attempts to sleep. Eventually she does.

…

She is not an emotional woman; she is guarded, well educated, elegant, never impulsive. Yet when she sees Aramis at court 10 days later walking with his comrades, she has to stop herself from running to him, everyone around her be damned, and pull him into a warm embrace. He does see her though, and a wide soft smile spreads across his face.

“Sir Aramis,” she said, before he and his friends reached the end of the corridor. He turned around instantly at the sound of her voice, and his gaze met hers. As if it was natural, the way it was meant to be that way. “May I speak with you?”

He nodded, and headed in her direction without a word. Today she is only accompanied by Constance, which is her salvation in more ways than one. It means they can speak a little freely, and she shows Aramis into the nearest room. It is an empty one, where no unwelcome eyes are looking at them. They still keep their distance though, it´s safer that way. “I see you´ve made your full recovery,” she said with an approving nod, hoping the words conveyed their true meaning.

“Musketeers don´t die easily, your majesty,” he replied with a small smirk, and it was a blessing to hear his voice again, healthy and fine. His words were loaded with so much more, which she could not quite place but it did make her feel warmer from the outside in.

“I should hope they don´t,” she answered lightly, and took a step towards him despite her better judgement. He had done the same.

“Did you mean it?” he said, and the words caught her so off guard, her smile fell. As much as she wanted to smile, because she knew exactly what he meant, and he had heard her. He could not ask her that, not now, not here. Unless the other musketeers had told her, Constance had no clue. Besides, it was the palace. They were never truly alone here. “What you said, when I asked why you gave me your favour?”

“Yes,” she said, and tried to keep her voice closed off and like the queen, she should be. The woman who loved no one but her country and family. “You are a very brave man, who have now thrice been willing to sacrifice his life for mine, I am eternally grateful.”

She made a move to leave the room, and clearly indicated that the conversation was done. Both Aramis and Constance took her cue, and as Aramis passed by, she quietly added: “I meant every word.”

Aramis held her gaze for a beat of silence, and his eyes were so soft, she could have melted. Constance didn´t take notice of it, and an instant later, they were on their way to the garden to see her son. She couldn´t keep the warm, affectionate feeling out of her chest, although she knew, she could never have him as he wanted. She also knew, she had doomed herself to one day lose, him, her son or her life she did not know.

But even if it was so, Anne would not trade having met him for anything in the world.


End file.
